


Giving Thanks

by Khiori63



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Artwork "Traditions" by Khiori, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 06:40:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4425266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khiori63/pseuds/Khiori63
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "All Our Yesterdays"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Giving Thanks

The low murmur of voices, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter, filled the room. The sounds blended easily with the delicious odors wafting through the air, creating an atmosphere of belonging and home.  
  
Kirk glanced around the crowded mess hall, at faces near and far, some as familiar as his own and others not quite so. Around his table sat his bridge crew, people he considered family in every sense of the word. He did, however, have to admit it felt a bit strange with Scotty on his left. It was a place usually reserved for McCoy, but on this particular occasion the good doctor had opted to sit next to his patient.  
  
Kirk waited until everyone had taken their seats, then rose and picked up his glass. He tapped it gently with his fork and others soon did the same until all conversation had ceased, replaced by the musical "ping, ping, ping" of metal striking crystal.  
  
Kirk held up a hand and the room grew silent. He raised his glass, everyone else quickly following suit. He reached down and stayed the quivering hand about to lift its own. _Not until I say._ The hand withdrew.  
  
"Ladies and gentlemen." He pitched his voice louder than usual so the open intercom would carry his words clearly throughout the ship. "As you know, it has become tradition for the captain to give the official toast in celebration of this particular holiday. Therefore, I would like to take a moment to express my thanks and gratitude to each member of this crew, and for the outstanding job you do every day. It is your dedication and devotion which has made the Enterprise the finest starship in the fleet."  
  
Kirk paused a moment, then continued. "And for those who are no longer among us, who made the ultimate sacrifice and gave up their lives in performance of their duty, we honor their memory today, tomorrow, and always."  
  
Without looking down, he casually brushed a hand against a nearby shoulder. _Now._ He waited until the only glass still on the table was carefully lifted, the unsteady grip of its owner sending gentle, rippling motions over the surface of the Savas juice it contained.  
  
"Happy Thanksgiving."  
  
A chorus of voices responded, "Happy Thanksgiving." The toast complete, everyone settled down to eat and soon the room echoed with the sound of clinking silverware and voices engaged in amiable conversation.  
  
Kirk sat and turned to the silent companion seated to his right. "You okay?"  
  
Spock inclined his head. "Yes, thank you, Captain."  
  
From his other side came a snort. "Like hell you are. Just remember, as soon as you're done eating, it's right back to Sickbay."  
  
Spock gave a long-suffering sigh, but wisely remained silent. He chose instead to focus on his meal. While everyone else had plates piled high with turkey (synthetic, of course), stuffing, mashed potatoes, and other traditional fixings, his contained a variety of vegetables, both hot and cold. All were carefully selected by McCoy to provide optimum nutrition, yet with little chance of causing gastric upset. He picked up his fork and began sampling the various items, remembering the doctor's earlier admonishment to "take small bites and eat slow". He was very much aware Kirk's dinner sat untouched as the captain's attention remained centered on him. No doubt he was still concerned about his first officer's rather precarious health, despite McCoy's assurance that said officer was finally "on the mend".  
  
Spock paused, fork halfway to his mouth, as a thought occurred. With some careful planning on his part, it was possible he could prove such was indeed the case. Also, given the significance of this day, it was mandatory he do so within the next five hours, 42 minutes, and 17 seconds. He resumed his meal, eating almost by rote as he began formulating details to achieve a successful outcome.  
  
Kirk watched the Vulcan tuck away his dinner at a slow but steady pace. His movements were somewhat hampered by the heavy blanket draped over his shoulders, his blue science uniform barely visible underneath. The tunic was stretched taut, due to several layers of thermal undershirts hidden beneath. But nothing could hide the deep rattle clearly audible with every indrawn breath, the pallid, gaunt face etched with fatigue, and the occasional cough the Vulcan tried to suppress. All the result of an assignment to save a people from a dying world. A people who, it turned out, didn't need saving after all.  
  
Kirk picked up his knife and fork and began eating, barely noticing the taste of his food.  
  
Sarpeidon. He wished he'd never heard of the damn place. What was supposed to be a simple evacuation of a doomed planet's inhabitants quickly turned into a nightmare. First the discovery their rescue mission was for naught, then his own struggle to escape Sarpeidon's past, followed by an even greater struggle to remain in its present, battling Atoz and time itself in a frantic search for Spock and McCoy...  
  
When they finally beamed aboard, just in the nick of time of course, he'd thought that was the end. Yet despite the fact the planet was now nothing but huge chunks of rubble, it still tried to claim one final victim. Less than 48 hours after their return, Spock was in Sickbay with a high fever, persistent chills, chest pain, and a racking cough that produced viscid, blood-tinged mucus. Pneumonia was quickly diagnosed, no doubt the result of bitterly cold, icy conditions wreaking havoc on lungs designed for a desert environment. Vulcans had no immunity against this type of infection and as McCoy bluntly told Kirk, it would depend largely on Spock's human half, along with antibiotics, fluids, and rest, whether or not he succumbed to the illness. Constant monitoring was also a necessity, as the large amounts of phlegm in the Vulcan's chest posed a real danger of choking him to death every time he coughed.  
  
With his treatment plan mapped out and a schedule for round-the-clock nursing in place, Spock was then moved to the isolation ward. Not so much because he was contagious, but so he could be contained in an environment of higher heat and lower humidity, conditions which other patients, never mind staff, would quickly find intolerable.  
  
One of his "nurses" was none other than Kirk himself, watching over the Vulcan each and every night. At first McCoy refused to even consider it. As far as he was concerned, Kirk had enough to do running the ship. Playing nursemaid for eight to ten hours after all that, hours during which he should be sleeping, would likely result in a case of exhaustion and then Kirk would find himself in Sickbay—not as a "nurse", but as a patient. It was only after Kirk made it clear he was going to be there anyway, so he may as well be useful, that McCoy capitulated. He did insist, however, that the captain cut down his duty time on the bridge a minimum of two hours each shift so he could rest.  
  
With both parties satisfied, Kirk would arrive in Sickbay around midnight and settle himself at the small desk outside Isolation. There he remained, alert for any sounds of distress over the open intercom, occasionally entering the ward to check vital signs as McCoy had instructed, repeating the process several times until 0600 when it was time to report for duty.  
  
Thus it went for the next 34 days. It had been a harrowing time; an hour into his very first shift, the intercom came alive with the sound of harsh coughing and Kirk rushed into the ward to find Spock nearly choking on thick mucus. Quickly turning the Vulcan on his side, Kirk delivered several sharp blows to his back and almost immediately the plug was discharged and Spock was able to breathe. Kirk eased him down on the bed, adjusted the head frame a little higher, and tucked the covers around the thin frame. He waited, hoping Spock would fall back asleep, but after a few moments the Vulcan began gasping for breath, eyes widening in alarm. Kirk grabbed a nebulizer mask, fit it over the pale face, and turned it on. Within seconds fine, medicated mist was drawn into congested lungs, easing swollen airways and allowing Spock to breathe normally once again. His eyes sought Kirk's at the same time a hand closed around his wrist. _Thank you._  
  
Kirk nodded. "Ten minutes, Spock. Take deep breaths."  
  
The Vulcan did his best to comply, but less than 30 seconds later, was struck by another fit of coughing. This time he pushed Kirk away, tore the mask from his face, and came to his knees. He leaned forward, nose to pillow, and braced himself on his elbows as thick plugs of phlegm were expelled from his lungs.  
  
Kirk shook his head in amazement. Gravity. Only Spock would think to use gravity as a form of treatment.  
  
When the spell finally ended, the Vulcan collapsed on his side, somehow just missing the gobs of mucus scattered over the sheets and pillows.  
  
Kirk buzzed for an orderly, then pulled Spock up and away from the sticky mess. He replaced the mask and gathered the Vulcan in his arms, lifting him off the bed just as the orderly arrived. He waited patiently, cradling the limp form against his chest, while the soiled pillows and sheets were quickly and efficiently replaced. He nodded his thanks as the orderly left, then carefully lay the Vulcan back down on the bed. Spock immediately curled up on his side, clutching a pillow to his chest. Kirk pulled the covers up once again, peripherally noting the Vulcan's breathing was less labored than before and within minutes, had settled into the normal, rhythmic pattern of sleep. Kirk removed the mask and ruffled the dark bangs affectionately before slipping quietly out of the room.  
  
While the rest of that particular night had remained peaceful, such was not the case over the next several weeks. Kirk quickly lost count of how many times he'd come to the Vulcan's aid as Spock struggled to overcome the virus which stubbornly refused to admit defeat. Finally, after never-ending days and nights of diligent care, McCoy pronounced him cured, although the Vulcan was far too weak to be released anytime soon.  
  
Kirk returned to the present to see his plate was now empty. Spock had also finished his meal and was sipping the last of his Savas juice. He looked tired, but content, no doubt enjoying his first foray from Sickbay in over a month.  
  
Unfortunately, it was not to last. McCoy rose and inclined his head toward the door. "Okay, Spock. Time to go."  
  
"Doctor..."  
  
"Don't 'Doctor' me. You're damn lucky I let you come in the first place."  
  
Spock turned to Kirk. "Captain..."  
  
Kirk found he was unable to resist the appeal in those dark eyes. "Bones, can't he at least stay for dessert?"  
  
"Absolutely not. The agreement was dinner, then right back to bed. That's all. Now say goodnight to your first officer."  
  
Kirk looked at the Vulcan and shrugged. "Well, Spock, I guess for now we'll have to admit defeat. I'll see you tomorrow."  
  
Spock hesitated and Kirk could swear a look that was almost...furtive momentarily flickered across his face. Then it was gone as Spock slowly, carefully rose from his chair. He nodded to Kirk. "Good evening, Captain."  
  
"Goodnight, Spock. Sleep well."  
  
Kirk watched as the Vulcan moved toward the exit at a dilatory, measured pace, obviously reluctant to leave. Kirk could sympathize, as Spock would undoubtedly have to endure the good doctor's "mother-henning" all the way back to Sickbay and probably afterward, as well. Such behavior, however, could easily be forgiven considering the long, hard battle McCoy had waged for the Vulcan's life, a battle over which he'd declared victory less than 23 hours ago. So it wasn't surprising he felt entitled to a little coddling, although it was highly unlikely his patient would agree. One thing was for sure, once Spock was finally released from Sickbay, it'd probably take wild horses, or more likely a direct order, before he'd go back again, no matter how bad he felt.  
  
Kirk chuckled at the thought, then got up to help himself to some dessert.  
  
Twenty minutes and two pieces of pumpkin pie later, Kirk bid those still remaining goodnight and headed for his quarters. He had about three hours of paperwork ahead of him, then after a quick shower, it was off to bed to catch up on some much-needed rest.  


*******************

"Just a bit more."  
  
Spock pushed himself up even further. He held his position while Chapel rearranged his pillows for what seemed an inordinate amount of time.  
  
"Okay, all finished."  
  
He settled back down as the nurse continued fussing over him, straightening blankets and checking his vitals. He had little choice other than to endure her unnecessary and unwanted ministrations, still, his patience was wearing thin. The longer she remained, the more his plans were in jeopardy.  
  
"So did you have a good time at dinner?"  
  
"It was most agreeable, thank you."  
  
"It's too bad you couldn't stay for dessert. The apple pie was delicious."  
  
Spock merely nodded. Any reply would only prolong the conversation and further delay Chapel's departure.  
  
Whether she took his silence as a sign of fatigue or that he wished to be alone, he could not know. It did, however, have the desired effect as after bidding him goodnight, Chapel left the ward. He tracked the sound of her receding footsteps, followed by the opening and closing of the Sickbay doors. He waited another moment, but heard nothing to indicate he was not alone. He pushed the covers back and turned to the overhead monitor. Within moments it was dark. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, allowing himself a small sense of satisfaction when no alarm sounded. He quickly located his boots, slipped them on, and clambered to his feet. It was time.  
  
*******************

Stifling a yawn, Kirk stepped out of the shower. Nothing like mounds of paperwork to guarantee a good night's sleep, even though those mounds were more in the form of thin cassettes. The task of sorting through numerous requisitions, department reports, and mission summaries had been particularly arduous tonight. Then again, he'd neglected all but the most vital during Spock's illness. Also, the Vulcan, in his unassuming, efficient way, tended to intercept much of said "paperwork" long before it reached the captain's desk. What eventually did arrive often needed nothing more than a quick review and a signature.  
  
Toweling his hair, Kirk entered his quarters. He'd barely taken two steps when a slight shuffling noise caught his attention. In one swift motion, he pivoted toward the sound, instinctively assuming a defensive posture.  
  
The first thing he noticed was the Sickbay coveralls, neatly folded over a chair. The second was the nude form stretched out on the bed.  
  
Kirk straightened. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"Waiting for you."  
  
"So I see. Let me rephrase the question. What are you doing here like that when you're supposed to be in Sickbay?"  
  
"I had no choice."  
  
Kirk tossed the towel on the chair. "No choice? Why? No, wait, let me guess. You drove McCoy so crazy he kicked you out, then you decided it would be a good idea to sneak into my quarters and strip naked."  
  
"Not precisely."  
  
"Oh? Which part did I get wrong?"  
  
"All but the latter."  
  
Kirk folded his arms. "Spock, am I the only one who knows you're not in Sickbay anymore?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Who else does?"  
  
"I do."  
  
Kirk suppressed a sigh. There were times when the Vulcan's literal-mindedness was enough to drive a person crazy. Particularly when said person was one exhausted starship captain. "Anyone else?"  
  
"I do not believe so."  
  
"So you snuck out. Mind telling me why?"  
  
"It was necessary."  
  
"Necessary? Exactly what do you mean by 'necessary'?"  
  
"I did not wish to break tradition."  
  
Kirk stared at him for a long moment, then smiled. "So tell me, just how long do we have before McCoy comes pounding on my door?"  
  
"Two hours, 27 minutes, 13 seconds."  
  
"Really? How do you figure that?"  
  
"I departed immediately following shift change. Since the doctor is now asleep and since I was not to be disturbed until next shift which is..."  
  
Kirk held up a hand. "Let me guess. Two hours, 27 minutes from now."  
  
"Actually, two hours, 26 minutes, and 34 seconds. Therefore, I suggest we proceed with a bit more alacrity."  
  
"Proceed with what?"  
  
An eyebrow rose. "I believe my current state of undress would make that obvious."  
  
"Well, you can just forget it. Tradition or no tradition, you're still much too weak."  
  
"I beg to differ. I am not so fragile I must forgo that which is meaningful to us both."  
  
"Well, if McCoy were here, I'm sure he could give you a dozen good reasons why you should. As for myself, I'm wondering if that's really why you came."  
  
A frown crossed the sallow features. "I do not understand. For what other purpose would I do so?"  
  
"Guilt."  
  
This time, both eyebrows went up. "Indeed? I am curious as to how you came to such a conclusion."  
  
"McCoy told me what happened on Sarpeidon. How you and Zarabeth..."  
  
"Ah. You believe I may hold myself at fault for betraying our relationship."  
  
"The thought had crossed my mind."  
  
"I would not think it to be an issue. Did not McCoy explain what happened?"  
  
"To an extent."  
  
"I see. Tell me, did the good doctor give reason as to why he was not completely forthcoming in regards to those events?"  
  
Kirk shrugged. "Not really. Maybe he was trying to salvage your pride."  
  
"Then his intentions were misguided. Let me clarify the matter. You are mistaken in your presumption I am troubled by my actions on Sarpeidon. I assure you, there is no cause for concern as I do not hold myself to blame for what transpired. While it is true I was drawn to Zarabeth and eventually coupled with her, it is also true my intellect was compromised due to the effects of the Atavachron. Indeed, had I remained much longer, eventually I would have become no more than an animal. Since it is illogical to expect rational behavior from one whose rationality is impacted by forces beyond one's control, then it is also illogical that one should be held responsible for one's behavior while in that state of mind. Such was the case on Sarpeidon. I harbor no guilt or self-recrimination for my actions during that time. I was not myself."  
  
"A sound, logical deduction, Science Officer. I just wonder if you really believe it."  
  
Spock rolled off the bed and gained his feet. With slow, deliberate steps, he approached the one being who meant more to him than all others. He pulled the human in a tight embrace and opened their bond.  
  
_Since we were joined, it has been our way to come together in this manner to celebrate those days which have meaning to us. The events on Sarpeidon, while disturbing to some, play no part in my presence here tonight. Nor shall I allow the ramifications of my recent illness deny us what we both need. I have waited too long for this. I intend to wait no longer._  
  
_Spock..._  
  
Whether the human meant that as plea or protest was inconsequential—Spock would not be denied. He closed his mouth over Kirk's, his tongue seeking out the other's, the two coming together and entwining in a dance of reunion, passion, and need. After a moment, Spock pulled away, ignoring the soft moan of disappointment. He began kissing the distinct line of the firm jaw, slowly moving down the throat. He tongued the not-quite prominent Adam's apple as Kirk threw back his head and groaned. Spock trailed his mouth along the crease over the throat and shoulder, then continued his journey downward.  
  
He came to his knees and gently, reverently kissed the center of the broad chest directly over the muscular organ which both pumped blood through the sturdy body and gave sanctuary to a lonely halfbreed longing for a home.  
  
Another low, guttural moan filled the air as a hardness pressed against his stomach. Desire flowed through the bond as Spock licked and sucked the already hard nub of one nipple, then traced a path to the other, suckling it unmercifully. Hands gripped his shoulders as the strong frame shuddered, the tremors vibrating against his tongue.  
  
Spock resumed his journey, nibbling the soft skin over the stomach before finally reaching his goal. The heavy penis was now fully aroused, weeping at its tip. Spock teased the head with one lick, then another, making circles around its circumference. He ran his tongue down, around and over the quivering flesh, laving it carefully, tenderly as his hands gently cupped heavy testicles. Then he pulled back slightly, blowing gently along the wet shaft, sending shivers along its length. Taking it fully in his mouth, he sucked, then sucked again, grasping the fleshy buttocks as the human grunted, thrusting his hips forward again and again, a steady, pistoning rhythm Spock rode with familiar ease. Then, just as climax approached, all movement ceased as the hands on his shoulders released their hold and pushed him away. _Spock, no..._  
  
Both surprised and puzzled by the human's actions, Spock glanced up, his eyes meeting hazel ones filled with both determination and desire. _Jim...why...?_  
  
Kirk shook his head. _Not like this. Bed._  
  
 Spock rose on legs that were not quite steady, sliding up into waiting arms. They embraced, hands roaming flesh, demanding, needing, aching for touch, mouths locked together as they tumbled onto the bed. In one swift, sure motion, Spock rolled them until he was on top, the human beneath him writhing in undeniable pleasure. Spock thrust against a hardness that matched his own and the room soon filled with urgent, unintelligible sounds as rational thought fled, replaced by a half-conscious, overwhelming, almost animalistic need for completion. Nails dug into flesh as bodies suddenly stiffened, cocks exploding together, spewing thick spirals of semen over two beings entwined as one.

  
  
Kirk grunted as Spock's body collapsed on his own. He wrapped his arms around his bondmate and gently rolled him over until they lay side-by-side. He pulled the other close and held tight as he waited for the panting breaths to subside. An occasional harsh cough punctuated the air, offsetting the deep rattle in the chest. Obviously their lovemaking had taken its toll on the sick man, but Kirk knew neither of them had any regrets.  
  
Afer a few moments, bleary but sated eyes opened and met his own. Kirk gently ran a finger over the full lips. "You were incredible."  
  
A slight smile was the only response, then Spock nuzzled against his neck. Slowly his eyes closed and seconds later, he was asleep.  
  
Carefully, Kirk eased himself from the loose embrace and headed for the bathroom. He quickly cleaned himself off, then wet a towel and returned to the bed. Gently, meticulously, he tended the slumbering form which never stirred under his ministrations.  
  
He returned to bed and gathered the warm body close. Spock shifted slightly, curling up against him before drifting back to sleep. Clearly he was exhausted and Kirk had little doubt they'd both catch hell from McCoy before this night was over. So be it.  
  
A slight shiver passed through the thin frame and Kirk reached for the covers. As he drew them up over the Vulcan, he paused, noting how every bone was clearly visible under the pale skin. They served as stark reminder how close he had come to losing Spock and how easily he could be spending this holiday alone.  
  
Yet once again, fortune favored the foolish—or at least starship captains and their Vulcan mates. More, the events of the past four weeks had only served to emphasize the significance of the holiday. It was, after all, the tradition on this day to give thanks for the gifts one was given and the man in his arms was indeed the most precious gift of all. And for that, Kirk was truly thankful.


End file.
